


recovery is a minefield i don't know how to navigate.

by nonsensewritingandlackoftime



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Add a dash of fluff, And an emotional support kitten, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Carlos Reyes, Established Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Recovery, Sobriety, Strained Relationships, TK Strand Has Issues, TK Strand Needs A Hug, TK Strand Whump, Therapy, Worried Carlos Reyes (9-1-1 Lone Star)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:34:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensewritingandlackoftime/pseuds/nonsensewritingandlackoftime
Summary: The past few weeks have been really difficult for TK. He's struggling with maintaining his sobriety and keeping his relationships afloat too. He's convinced life is stuck in clockwork and addiction is the only thing that can change that. It's a difficult road and TK's left feeling alone with no one to turn to. Will his need for control win or will his family finally realise something is wrong in time to save him from himself?
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	recovery is a minefield i don't know how to navigate.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: this is very centred on addiction and recovery along with some self-doubt from TK's side. Brief mention of missed eating and implied depression. I promise there's a happy ending but if those are difficult topics for you, I strongly suggest you skip this one.

Addiction was a lot more complex than people made it out to be. What starts as a hyper fixation of a habit becomes a controlling dependency that takes away everything you’ve ever loved and known. T.K. had been down that path before, he refused to go down it again.

Becoming sober was the first step. The act of becoming sober wasn’t the difficult part. The difficult part was convincing yourself that the escapism you had clung onto doesn’t define who you are. All T.K. had known of himself was addiction. Even in the smallest of ways. He didn’t know who he was outside of that.

Obviously, he was a firefighter. That was what he did, a big aspect of how he spent his life but it wasn’t who he was. The what and who were so closely linked but so drastically separated. T.K. didn’t know if he could differentiate them anymore. 

Carlos reminded him frequently that his addiction didn’t make him who he was and he loved him for it, he really did, but that didn’t make him believe those words his mind twisted. 

Who was he without his addiction?

When T.K. was using, he knew exactly who he was. He was the happier friend. The one who wanted to go out and party and experience everything he possibly could. He was the excitable one, who found happiness and humour in every situation. He was the friend everyone wanted. He was so ridiculously loved. 

And then he got clean.

It was as if the world slipped through his palms. He lost the control addiction gave him. Nothing was the same. His friends didn’t call him as often. They didn’t invite him out with them, they cancelled plans and made excuses as if T.K. was no more than a fun time to them. 

Addiction offered him a friendship that wouldn’t be taken away. 

At least to him, it did.

What everyone else saw behind T.K.’s distorted tunnel vision and dependency he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he was as wonderful and selfless as they made him out to be or if those flimsy words were just fed to him to keep him stable.

Realistically, he knew missing his addiction so much was reason enough to call his therapist who he hadn’t spoken to in so long. He’d know how to respond to his brain and he could talk him away from the crooked line he was dancing on. A part of him kept him from picking up the phone.

Time had been distorted the past few weeks. T.K. didn’t know if everyone else was somehow clued into the emotional turmoil he was going through but they’d been acting strange too.

Everything he did was just routine and going through the motions.

He’d wake up. Brush his teeth. Comb his hair. Grab his hoodie. Go to work. Message Carlos. Make stupid excuses to ignore him, knowing that he would only hurt him more if he made the effort to see him. He’d ignore his friends. They’d ask him if he was okay. He’d respond “just tired,” and it wouldn’t be a lie. He’d leave and go home, turned into his bed, never sleeping just staring at the ceiling hoping that his brain would stop telling him how much he needed his addiction.

Addiction was an enemy that clung to your skin and you could not shake no matter how desperately you tried.

T.K. didn’t know how much longer he could wait for his skin to turn clean. 

He was losing everyone he’d loved and he had no way of stopping its call.

\---

Carlos was worried. So was everyone else. 

Within the first few days of T.K.’s weak smiles and stumbled sentences, they all knew something was wrong. No one wanted to approach the subject in case T.K. took it the wrong way, when he got like this it was a difficult minefield to navigate. 

In one scenario, them telling T.K. they were worried might have been exactly what he needed to refocus his scattered brain and seek the help he so desperately needed. On the other hand, everything could go so much worse. If they brought up their worries of him relapsing, it could trigger him to do the one thing they wanted to beg him not to.

They tried to be there for him however they could. Whenever T.K. was at the station they tried to involve him in every conversation. They invited him out every weekend. They checked on him daily. Mostly, they just reminded him that his family was there, whether he wanted them to be or not.

It worked slightly differently for Carlos. He didn’t have the pleasure of always seeing his boyfriend at work. Lately, he hadn’t had the privilege of seeing much of T.K. outside of work either. Besides their daily check-ins and Carlos repeatedly sending him updates of how his day was going. They’d fallen apart a lot more than Carlos was proud to admit.

He refused to lose T.K. to his addiction but he refused to rush him through processing his trauma. 

On the start of the third week. Carlos knew it was time for an intervention. He’d seen him once over the course of those 15 treacherous days. When he did see him, his eyebags had sunk horribly low and his cheeks morphed into something hollow. He looked sick. And so tired.

Carlos spoke to Owen about it after one of his shifts. The crew shared their worries with him and he knew it was time to take matters into his own hands.

He was safe for now, but what if he’d already started using again. What if it was too late?

\---

It was 8:30 PM on a Saturday. T.K. had finished his shift an hour and a half ago, his routine fell into place like clockwork. It usually did. 

He didn’t remember if he’d eaten dinner tonight, he didn’t really care. He heard his bed call to him like another distant lullaby. Something safe and constant where the world could not nibble at his skin in anger. The monsters couldn’t attack him there. 

He kicked off his shoes and turned off his phone, placing it on his nightstand. T.K. observed his rumpled covers and sighed, he didn’t want to deal with this today. Not when he was so tired. 

Slowly, he laid down in his bed. He didn’t bury himself under the covers like he used to do when he fell asleep with Carlos. He’d always go deep under the covers to rest his face on Carlos’s stomach. The warm flesh there offered him the comfort to get through any difficult day. Somehow, Carlos just had that power. He was safe. He was home. Carlos… he missed him. It was better this way, though. It wouldn’t hurt as much if something went wrong. 

Hours drifted by like seconds as T.K. memorised every crevice of his ceiling. He could count the exact number of cracks that covered the expanse of his home by now. Like clockwork. Everything was like clockwork.

He resented the tick of that clock. 

“... T.K?” Muffled voices couldn’t tear him from his blank reverie. His mind was a canvas, and the paint had all dried up. 

“...Tyler, cariño?” No. That was a voice he needed to recognise, someone was in his house. 

Blearily, he blinked the mist from his eyes and managed to lift his body up to rest against his headboard. 

His voice croaked from disuse.

“Carlos? What are you… why are you here?”

Carlos looked at him from where he stood leaning in the doorway. His face fell as he finally took in T.K.’s malnutritioned figure. Did he realise how bad he looked?

“Oh, Tyler. It’s okay. I’m here now, we’re going to get you help.”

T.K. did not know when Carlos had crossed the room or why he had done so. He did know, however, that his stiff body was being manoeuvred to rest across Carlos’s lap. Oh. He missed the feeling of a body so close to his. 

For a moment, he expected him to turn away in repulsion at what he’d become. Being sober did that to people, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked down at him with the most tender look in his eyes, he stayed calm and let T.K. relax into his embrace.

His boyfriend carded his gentle hands softly through his hair. He closed his eyes.

“Sleep, cariño. We can talk in the morning.”

T.K. might have managed a mumbled affirmation or he might not have, he didn’t know. Carlos didn’t stop whispering soothing words in his ear the whole time he held him. He didn’t stop loving him even though he deserved not to be loved. He didn’t stop. He cared.

He cared. 

His sobriety didn’t make him unlovable. His sobriety kept him safe. His sobriety showed him love.

\---

The days following that night were hard. Conversations had to be had that neither wanted to take part in. It was important for T.K. to communicate and it was important for Carlos to understand. 

Together, they picked up the fragile pieces of T.K.’s heart that had fallen out of place and found them new homes. 

Therapy sessions became weekly. Carlos moved in. He didn’t have to be alone anymore. He may not have relapsed but he became addicted to something else instead, routine. Harmful routines that he struggled to shake and change. Carlos helped him reintroduce variety. 

Date night was no longer missed. A random day each week was chosen and a new idea was searched for. Meals were had at different times, people called and spoke to him at different times. Nothing had to be set like clockwork anymore. 

Addicts couldn’t get rid of their need for control though. No matter how hard they tried, or at least T.K. couldn’t. 

Carlos figured a way around that too. 

A new part of their family. 

After one really difficult therapy session, Carlos met T.K. outside the office with his hands held behind his back and a large smile across his face. 

“Carlos? I know you’re the cop, but even I can tell how suspicious you look right now,” T.K. quirked an eyebrow as he stepped towards his boyfriend. 

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” T.K. looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“Is this where you pull out some phallic-shaped object and make me hold it and then take a picture of me that will then be framed inside the firehouse to forever make me a laughing stock?” 

Carlos now looked at him as if he was the one that had lost his mind.

“...no? Do you need to talk about some things T.K.?” T.K. glared at him before rolling his eyes and doing as he was initially told.

Carlos could barely contain his excitement as he delivered a decidedly small furry package into his palms.

Hold on, was it moving?

T.K. opened his eyes to peer into his palm.

“Oh my God, you didn’t.” 

Carlos grinned at him as he saw T.K.’s jaw drop.

“I did,” he said. “Meet dandelion, the newest member of the Strand-Reyes household.”

He caressed the tiny ginger kitten in his palm before looking up at Carlos. 

“Carlos. Why do we have a kitten?”

Carlos looked bashful at him for a moment before reaching to rub at the back of his neck.

“I know you’ve been struggling. I wanted to give you another reason to get up every morning. He’s a rescue so he needs a lot of love and attention,” he hesitated a moment before continuing in a much smaller voice than before. “I thought that maybe because we rescued him, he might be able to rescue you in return.”

Tears rushed to T.K.’s eyes. 

“Carlos, you rescued me the second I met you and you continue to rescue me every day.”

In the quiet of the empty parking lot, the tiny family found themselves again in the palm of each other's hands. Not everything had to be perfect to feel right.

Healing was a process but T.K. was getting there. 

T.K. was more than his addiction. T.K. was strong, resilient, determined, charismatic, loving, selfless and most of all, T.K. deserved to be loved just as much as everyone else. His addiction didn’t make him who he was. He determined his own fate.

If T.K.’s love was a burden, it was a weight those he loved wanted to continue to bear. 

He was wanted.

He was loved. 

His addiction could rest.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all asked for angst so i had to supply. i felt bad for hurting TK, so again... there's an emotional support kitten. everyone needs an emotional support kitten in their lives and a carlos <3


End file.
